


Of Vision and Vulnerabilities

by SabbyStarlight



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Blindness, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Jack, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22297627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabbyStarlight/pseuds/SabbyStarlight
Summary: "Alright," Mac let his hand fall to the side of Jack's neck in what should have been a comforting, grounding move, but the familiar touch sent Jack jolting away once more.  "I need more than just 'something's wrong'.  You gotta talk to me, buddy.  I can't help if I don't know what we're dealin' with."Jack’s hand reached out, shaking but determined, and slapped at the air until clumsy fingers brushed against Mac's arm and he gripped the material of his shirt sleeve like a lifeline.  "I can't see, Mac."
Comments: 24
Kudos: 62





	Of Vision and Vulnerabilities

**Author's Note:**

> Did I do some research before writing this? Yup. Did I take all that newly learned information and toss most of it out the window, only keeping the parts I wanted in order to make this fic go where I wanted it to? Also yup. That being said, this IS possible, but I’m about as far from a medical professional as one can be so don’t take my writing as advice. Ever.

**A shady building in a shady part of town**

"I can't believe you did that," Mac hissed as they made their way through the darkened hallway. "Do you know how stupid that was? What could have happened?"

"They thought lockin' us in a room rigged up to that big fancy electrical panel would keep us in place until their boss showed up," Jack shrugged. "I made sure it didn't."

"Because my idiot of a partner couldn't wait five minutes for me to unhook it. Instead, he just decided to grab hold of the doorknob and electrocute himself." Mac checked over his shoulder, searching for any guards catching up to them. Not seeing any, he stopped at the next window they came to, taking advantage of the moonlight spilling through into the corridor. "Let me see your hand."

"I'm fine," Jack assured, stopping beside the younger man and extending his hand for him to examine. "Seriously. It hurt but I don't even think it scorched me. And I got us outta there, didn't I?"

"You don't even know how bad this could have been, Jack," Mac continued, turning Jack's hand over in his own, searching for the burns that, as promised, were nowhere to be found. "You're sure you feel alright? Is there an exit wound where the current went out?"

"I’m a little jittery," Jack admitted, pulling his hand back and shaking it, trying to regain complete feeling instead of the pins and needles he was left with after the shock. "Don't quite have full feelin' back in it yet, but I'm fine, hoss. Let's get out of this place, alright?"

"Yeah," Mac agreed, hesitantly. "But that stunt earned you a full workup at Medical when we make it back home."

Jack rolled his eyes as they made their way through the empty hallways, the closed doors they crept past were eerily silent, assuming their captives were still safely locked away. The only sound was their boots on the tile floor and Mac's muttering about the potential dangers of what a shock of that voltage could do and the cause it could cause to someone’s heart.

**Phoenix Jet, LA Bound**

Mac pulled the blood pressure cuff off of Jack’s arm, the ripping Velcro barely loud enough to conceal his sigh as he frowned down at the perfectly normal numbers on the portable machine.

“That’s the third time you’ve checked, dude,” Jack grinned, leaning back in his seat and crossing his feet at the ankles. “I'm fine, we've been in the air for twenty minutes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were tryin’ to find something wrong.”

“I just don’t get it,” Mac reached over and grabbed Jack’s hand again. When the search for burn marks once again came back blank he settled for checking his partner’s pulse on his own, not trusting the numbers on the blood pressure system to be accurate. “You don’t just get to walk away from a shock like that. You’re sure nothing feels wrong?”

“I told ya already,” Jack tried again, reaching up with his free hand to rub at his eyes. “My hand’s still a little numb and I’m gettin’ one hell of a headache from listenin’ to you complain about the improbability of the Dalton super-strength, but I’m fine, Mac. Really. I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

“Would you though?” Mac asked, mind reeling, thinking back to all the times his partner hadn’t admitted to being hurt in the past.

“You’re worried about it messin’ up my heart,” Jack ducked his head to meet Mac’s eyes. “That’s serious. I ain’t gonna let somethin’ like that, somethin’ that could take me out of the game, go unchecked. I’ll tell you if anything feels off, alright? But you gotta stop worryin’ or it’s gonna be your heart blowin’ out on us instead of mine.”

“Okay,” Mac agreed, eyes roaming the cabin of the plane searching for another idea and coming up empty-handed once again. “Just, take it easy the rest of the flight, you hear? And the second something starts to feel wrong…”

“I’ll let you know,” Jack promised as he leaned back in his seat once more, stretching out and making himself comfortable. “Gonna take a nap before you turn me over to our stab-happy friends at Medical.” He closed his eyes.

The worried frown on his partner’s face was the last thing Jack saw before falling asleep, which, he would think later, was almost poetic, in a twisted, demented, ironic kind of way. But Mac had reason to be worried. Neither of them knew that Mac's face would be the last thing Jack would see for a long time.

Nearly two hours into their flight home Jack woke with a start. "Mac?" His voice, laced with barely-controlled panic called out across the plane.

"I'm here," Mac stood up from his window seat across the aisle and made his way closer to Jack. "I'm right here. What's up?" He carefully picked up Jack's hand, attempting to check his pulse and noting the way the hand trembled in his grip before Jack flinched hard enough to pull away from Mac's touch.

"Something's wrong," Jack's voice was pitched low, barely more than a whisper, as he grated out the words, breaking in between syllables. "Mac, something's really wrong."

"Alright," Mac let his hand fall to the side of Jack's neck in what should have been a comforting, grounding move, but the familiar touch sent Jack jolting away once more. "I need more than just 'something's wrong'. You gotta talk to me, buddy. I can't help if I don't know what we're dealin' with."

Jack’s hand reached out, shaking but determined, and slapped at the air until clumsy fingers brushed against Mac's arm and he gripped the material of his shirt sleeve like a lifeline. "I can't see, Mac."

"What do you mean you can't see?" Mac pried his arm away from Jack's hand, taking a second to place it on his knee to give him something else to ground himself, as he took Jack's face between his hands and turned his head to face him. "There's nothing…"

"Maaac," The word was drawn out, terrified and pained, more a keening whine than a familiar name and it shook Mac to his core.

"Okay," Mac soothed, prying Jack’s fingers away from his jeans so he could stand. "Okay, I'll, I'll take care of it," He fumbled with his words, unsure but feigning confidence simply because he knew it's what Jack would do for him if the roles were reversed. "Just, hang out here for a minute, I'm gonna go see if there's a hospital we can land at between here and home, alright?"

"Don't," Jack began and Mac watched as his hands reached out for him again, big brown eyes stared blankly in his general direction, watery and blinking rapidly, but he managed to put a damper on his emotions, to get them under control if only for a moment. Mac knew that the strength it took for Jack to agree to let him go, to be left alone and vulnerable, was monumental. "Hurry?" He asked instead, voice smaller than Mac had ever heard it before.

"I'll be right back," he promised, blinking away a sudden onslaught of his own tears that only began to well up more when he realized that he didn’t have to hide them from his partner's eyes. "Three minutes," Mac refocused himself. "Just give me three minutes to talk to the pilots and I'll be back. You can time me." It's a pointless task, trivial, counting the seconds until he returns, but Jack relaxed, ever so slightly, at the prospect of having something to do, something to focus on other than what he can’t see.

“Three minutes,” Jack repeated, nodding slightly, and Mac forced himself to leave before either of them could change their mind, heading down the short aisle and barging through the unmarked door at the front of the plane.

“Cuttin’ it close,” Jack called when he heard Mac’s footsteps returning a few moments later. “Nine seconds to spare. What, um, what’d they say?”

“We’re still several hours from Phoenix,” Mac dropped back down into the seat beside his partner. “But there’s a hospital about twenty minutes away. It hasn’t quite been cleared yet, but we’re landing there anyway. Matty can handle all the red tape later.”

Jack was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, knee jumping up and down nervously. “This is bad ain’t it?”

“It’s not good,” Mac ran a stressed hand through his hair. “But we’ll take care of it.”

“I can’t see, Mac,” Jack’s voice raised in panic, spiraling. “I can’t do my job, can’t keep you safe, if I can’t, I can’t…”

“Hey,” Mac interrupted him with a hand on his arm, ignoring the way he flinched away from the touch. “Hey, we’re not even going to think about that right now. That shouldn’t even be crossing your mind, not when we don’t have any actual answers yet. Don’t start freaking out until we find out what’s wrong, okay? It could be nothing.”

“I can’t see, Mac,” Jack repeated. “I don’t think it’s nothing.”

“Bad choice of words,” Mac admitted. “It could be easily fixed.”

"You think so?" There was a hopefulness in Jack's voice that tightened the already suffocating vise around Mac's heart.

"I think there's no point in losing our cool until we know for sure," Mac answered after a long moment to choose his words carefully. "Just hang on until we get some answers."

Jack reached out a still shaking hand, fumbling towards Mac, searching for an anchor. Out of words that wouldn't offer a false sense of hope, Mac let him grab ahold of his hand and grip it tight, doing just what Mac had suggested and hanging on.

**Some hospital in Oregon. (Mac was too distracted to catch the name.)**

"Okay, MacGyver, he has a what now?"

Matty's voice echoed through the phone held against his ear and Mac dropped into one of the waiting room chairs with a sigh. He had been dreading the call into Phoenix, and rightfully so, it seemed. MacGyver, she had called him. Not one of the playful nicknames his boss had come up with over the years, not even just Mac. MacGyver was a short step away from calling him Angus, and that alone made Matty's worry all the more obvious.

"Basically, the electrical shock caused his retinas to detach," Mac explained. "It's a tear…"

"Yeah, I got that much," Matty cut him off and he could hear the stress in her voice. "I just didn't know that could happen."

"Me either," Mac confessed. "It's rare, like, super rare, but…"

"But leave it to Jack," she finished for him.

"And he really can't see?" Riley's voice joined in. “At all?”

"Not a damn thing." The words tasted bitter on his tongue and while Mac was just about as far from a violent person as one could be, there was a blank patch of sheetrock across the room that was just begging for him to drive a fist through it.

"Where is he now?"

"Asleep," Mac pinched the bridge of his nose, images of his needle-phobic partner practically begging for a sedative before the doctor's examination of his eyes was even through, desperate for a break from the anxiety and the pain, playing in his mind on a constant loop. "They want to keep him until tomorrow and then if nothing gets worse they'll let us come home. Follow up with Phoenix docs and whatever specialists they recommend a few days after that. I probably should go rent a car while before he wakes up." He added absentmindedly.

"Don't bother. You're not driving him home, I'll send transport. It'll be ready to leave whenever you are, to bring you back to Phoenix. I want him checked out by our team before you take him home." Matty was doing her best to keep the emotion out of her voice but it was clear she was worried.

"Thanks," Mac breathed a sigh of relief. He had hated the thought of leaving Jack just to go to the waiting room and make the call, let alone leaving to find a ride home.

"Is there anything you need, Mac?" Matty asked.

My partner to be okay. He had to fight to keep the words from automatically slipping loose. It was the only thing that he could think of to want. "I'll be fine," he choked out after a moment.

"He will be too, right?" Riley asked. "Jack? I mean, it'll be a rough few days but, but they can fix him. Can't they? He won't be…" She trailed off, unable to bring herself to say the word.

"They are hopefully optimistic, is the phrase they've been throwing around, at the moment," Mac said, "But they don't really know much yet. There's a surgery they can do, so long as the damage isn't too severe, but we won't know for a few days until the swelling goes down around his optic nerves if that's even an option."

"What if it isn't?"

Mac could hear the exact moment the full extent of Jack's latest injury hit Riley and he would have given anything to keep her from feeling the pain he had been struggling with for the past few hours. Instead, he just pushed his own emotions down further, back into one of those little compartmentalized boxes Jack had tried so hard to unpack over the course of their friendship. "If it isn't," he forced his voice to carry the strength he was pretending to have himself. "Then we adjust. Adapt. Hell, we improvise. Better than we ever have. And we help him deal with it, until we've found a new normal. Not just for him, but for all of us."

**MacGyver's house. Well, MacGyver's driveway.**

"I can't believe you made me leave the Shelby at Phoenix," Jack grumbled from the passenger seat of Mac's Jeep.

"I can't believe you expected me to take 'Just drive your's, I don't like you behind the wheel of my car on a good day, let alone one when I can't see how you’re treatin' her' as anything other than instructions to do just that." Mac shot a glance towards his partner, knowing that his frustration wasn't really directed at him or his vehicle choice, but rather the situation that had led that decision in the first place.

"It's locked in the private parking garage of a secure government facility," Mac placated. "And nobody there is stupid enough to lay a hand on your car, Jack. I'll ride to work with Bozer sometime this week and drive it back here if that would make you feel better."

"I, uh, I thought you said you were takin' some time off?" Jack's hand reached up to nervously play with the sunglasses hiding his unseeing eyes.

"No, no," Mac quickly corrected. "I am. I'm not going back to work until we get this sorted out, I just meant if you wanted me to go get the Shelby. Wouldn't even be for more than an hour or two. Ri could come to keep you company, give you a break from me annoying you. But only if you want."

The tension in Jack's shoulders eased, just slightly, at the assurance. "You ain't gonna annoy me. But I don't need a babysitter."

"Nobody said anything about a babysitter," That was an argument Mac had been prepared for, just not before they even made it through the door. "But you can't be left alone right now."

"Can't be left alone, can't stay in my own house, can't bring my car home, can't carry a damn gun…"

"You really wanna have the fight about your gun again?" Mac interrupted him, remembering the heated conversation before Jack had been released from the hospital. "You can't see, Jack. You don't need to be carrying. Especially with the meds they have you on."

"I heard the lecture the first time," Jack sighed, dropping his head back against the seat with a defeated thump. "Don't mean I have to like it." He remembered Mac's previous comment and turned to face him. "You don't annoy me though."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that," Mac forced a smile, trying his best to keep some form of normalcy, the slightest shell of their usual banter, going. "I learned my hovering techniques from the best, remember?"

Jack curled his lips up in a faint ghost of his usual smirk. “Yeah, I remember. I just don’t like you havin’ to trail around after me, waste your time takin’ care of me.”

“Would you do it for me?”

“Of course,” Jack answered automatically. “But,”

“Don’t you dare say that’s your job and not mine,” Mac cut in before Jack could even get the words out. “Don’t even try that one, Jack. I’m in this with you, okay? Anything you need, however long it takes, no matter what happens, I’m here.”

“I hate this,” Jack’s voice was soft, vulnerable, pitched low in the quiet of the car.

“We’ll get through it,” Mac promised, digging deep, trying to find an untapped reserve of faith he hadn’t yet used up. “You wanna head inside?”

“Naw, I just thought I’d make camp out here in your Jeep,” Jack answered, the heat in his voice a poor attempt at masking the uncertainty there.

“Hang tight,” Mac ignored the barb as he turned off the ignition and pocketed the keys. “I’ll get your door.”

“I can get it,” Jack insisted as his hand fumbled against the door panel, searching for the latch. He was still struggling with the task by the time Mac had walked around and opened the door for him, causing his hand to drop to his lap in defeat. “I said I could get it.”

“Yeah? Well, you also said you wanted to make it out of the car before we had to climb back in for your appointment in two days,” Mac teased. As harsh as the words sounded to his own ear, he knew Jack would find their usual banter infinitely more comforting than anything else Mac could do for him at the moment. “Watch your head,” He warned as Jack stepped out of the Jeep, unstable legs testing his footing as hands slapped away Mac’s own as he tried to help.

“I’ve got it,” He growled, frustrated enough that Mac took a half-step backward in surrender. “You know how many times I’ve walked from this driveway to your front door? I think I can manage one more.”

“Okay,” Mac agreed with a shrug. “I’ll be right behind you then.”

It only took a few seconds for Jack to realize that he couldn’t, in fact, manage the simple task without help. Mac watched as the determination on his face faded to uncertainty, and as the uncertainty changed to defeat. “Damn it,” He whined. “Mac?”

“I’m right here,” He assured, stepping forward and resting a gentle hand on Jack’s elbow.

“Too many variables,” Jack explained softly, kicking at a divot in the pavement with the toe of his boot.

“Yup,” Mac agreed easily as they made their way slowly up the sidewalk.

“Didn’t know which spot you parked in,” Jack continued. “How close we were to the walkway, how far up the drive. I’m enough of a burden right now without goin’ and knockin’ myself out walkin’ into the basketball hoop.”

“You’re not a burden,” Mac insisted, tightening his grip on Jack’s arm to emphasize his point. “But I would much rather help you inside than have to carry your unconscious ass the whole way because you, like you said, walked into the pole of the basketball hoop.”

“I hate this,” Jack sighed again.

“You said that already,” Mac forced a smile. “Watch your step,” he warned as they came upon the seam in the walkway in front of the door.

“I got it, I got it,” Jack muttered. They both ignored the way his boot caught on the cement despite Mac’s warning.

He froze, not even in the house far enough for Mac to close the door behind them, at the sound of voices coming from the kitchen. "Didn't realize you were gonna' have company," His voice was low and it was clear Jack was already formulating a getaway plan.

"It's just Bozer and Riley," Mac's hand shifted from Jack's arm to his shoulder, offering comfort and preventing him from running away in one easy move. Jack didn't like having his own tricks used against him. "They don't exactly qualify as company."

"Well, I don't really feel up to beer and charades on the deck." His discomfort filtered out through his voice as anger. "Think I'm at a slight disadvantage on that one."

"They're worried about you, Jack," Mac ignored the heat behind his partner's words. "Nobody’s expecting you to be the life of the party right now. Why don’t you just let them see that you're okay and then you can go crash for a few hours."

"Cause I’m not okay, Mac. But sure, why wouldn’t I want to go get stared at with their sad, sympathetic eyes. Poor Jack. I can imagine it, clear as day, don't even have to see it for myself."

"They're going to be around." Mac sighed. "And this is our new normal for a while. I'll do whatever I can to make this easier on you but you can't hide from everyone who isn’t me. Not when we don’t have an end date for this yet."

“Of course not,” Jack’s glare instantly shifted to a plastered on fake smile as he shrugged his way out from under Mac’s hand. “Not like I’m goin’ through anything at the moment. I’m fine!” He fumbled his way down the hall towards the kitchen, hand braced against the wall.

“Hey, kids!” He called, voice brash and overly cheery to even the most inexperienced ear. “I’d say it sure is good to see you, but, well, you know.” A forced laugh stopped Riley in her tracks on her way to wrap him in a hug and had Bozer’s worried eyes catching Mac’s, searching. Clarification, guidance, assurance, or a cocktail of all three, Mac wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for. Whatever it was he didn’t have the answers, so he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, just slightly, still forgetting that he didn’t have to hide his movements from Jack’s knowing eyes.

“Jack?” Riley’s hesitant voice finally broke through the awkward quiet.

“I’m fine!” Jack’s smile managed to grow even larger, teeth flashing white against tan skin. “Who needs functioning eyes anyway?”

Mac’s hand came to rest between Jack’s shoulder blades, feeling the tension pouring off tense muscles in waves. “Enough,” His voice was low but the warning in the words came through just the same. “You’ve made your point, let it go.”

“Well,” Jack pulled off the sunglasses he was still wearing, provoking, daring somebody to comment on how unsettling it was to see his eyes staring blankly through them, and dropped them onto the kitchen counter. “I’m beat. Gonna go take a nap if that’s alright with everyone. Who knew how tiring it was spendin’ all day not seeing anything? On the bright side, at least now I don’t have to worry about the sun keepin’ me awake. I’m gonna save a fortune on blackout curtains!”

“Why don’t you go crash in my room for a while?” Mac stopped him with a hand on his arm as he headed towards the living room.

“Cause I already told you, I ain’t stealin’ your bed.” It had been yet another argument they had been forced to talk out before Jack was discharged from the hospital. “It’s bad enough I’m stuck crashing at your place for the next little while, I’m not gonna kick you out of your own room too. I’m good on the couch.”

“You wanna sleep on the couch? That’s fine, you’re more than welcome to. Tonight.” Mac stood his ground. “But right now you’re exhausted and hurting and miserable and you’ll sleep better in an actual bed. And you can’t say you’re kicking me out of it when I wasn’t planning on using it for another,” He glanced down at his watch. “What, ten hours, give or take? Go crash for a while, maybe you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

Unable to argue with his partner’s logic, Jack relented. “Fine,” He turned on his heel and headed back down the hall towards Mac’s room, feeling his way past all the odds and ends lining the walls that Mac and Bozer had collected over the years. “May not be a bad idea, I’ll be far enough away for y’all to talk about me behind my back without havin’ to whisper.”

Mac pulled out one of the barstools and collapsed into it, head in his hands, elbows on the counter as the bedroom door slammed shut.

Nearly two hours later, after Mac had convinced Riley and Bozer to leave and let him handle things on his own for a while, a crash sounded from the direction of his bedroom. Mac quickly closed the tab on the online bookstore he was browsing and jumped to his feet, jogging down the hall.

“Jack?” He cautiously swung the door open, revealing an empty bed, blankets not even turned down, and a seemingly empty room. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” A voice answered after a heavy pause, muffled through the door leading to the adjoining bathroom.

“You seem to be saying that a lot lately,” Mac pressed an ear against the door, straining to make out any sound coming from the other side. “I’m having a hard time believing it. Wanna open the door and prove me wrong?”

“Nope.”

“Too bad. My house, my call. I’m coming in,” Mac warned before turning the knob and slowly pushing the door open. He had to turn and slide through sideways when it would only open halfway, resistance from his Jack’s legs where he was sitting on the floor, leaning against the sink.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” The majority of things that had been left on the counter were now scattered across the tile floor. It was a fine line, Mac knew, between helping and upsetting Jack even more, so he quickly weighed his options and decided to sit down on the floor as well, back pressed against the cool glass of the walk-in shower, opposite his partner, close but not touching.

“Nope.”

Clearly a pattern was forming and it was one Mac fully intended to break.

“Too bad. Start talking.”

“Guess there was a towel on the floor. Couldn’t see it. Slipped.” Jack shrugged as if it was no big deal. “Tried to catch myself and I couldn’t see what I was grabbin’.”

“Yeah,” Mac glanced over at the towel lying in a heap on the floor. “Sorry, shouldn’t have left that laying around.”

“Don’t do that.” The emptiness in Jack’s eyes darkened even more. “Don’t you start apologizin’ for living in your own house, feelin’ guilty for throwin’ a towel on the floor.”

“Are you going to stop feeling guilty for tripping over something you couldn’t see?”

Jack bit his lip and stayed silent, choosing not to answer, knowing that what he wanted to say would just upset Mac more.

“I didn’t even know you were awake,” Mac pressed on, changing the subject. “Why didn’t you yell for me?”

“Cause I should be able to take a damn piss without your help!” Jack’s voice echoed throughout the room, rising to the ceiling and bouncing back down to their spot on the floor, booming and raw. His fingers curled into a fist and Mac, seeing what was coming, reached out and grabbed his hand just before it connected with the tile floor.

“That’s a good way to break your hand, you know,” He kept his grip tight, ignoring the trembling muscles. “Can I let go or are you going to do something stupid and hurt yourself more if I do?”

Jack pulled his hand out of Mac’s and let it drop, softly, to the floor, so Mac leaned back, giving Jack his space.

“It’s weird,” Jack’s head thumped back against the cabinet doors beneath the sink as he began to speak after a few quiet moments. “Losin’ your eyesight isn’t somethin’ you ever expect, ya know?”

“Definitely not something you can really prepare for, even if you know it’s coming.” Mac agreed, treading carefully, choosing his words with precision.

“Not just that,” Jack’s fingers began playing with his wrist cuff as he spoke and Mac wasn’t sure if it was simply a nervous habit or if he was reminding himself what it looked like, a piece of himself he was already forgetting. “You don’t go into doin’ what we do without those kinda thoughts. The what-ifs? And not just with what we do now, savin’ the world one covert mission at a time. When I joined up I knew there was a damn good chance I wouldn’t come back home, and if I did there was an even bigger chance of not comin’ back unharmed. Losin’ an arm or a leg, maybe more than one. But it never crossed my mind, not once, that it’d by my eyes I’d have to learn to live without.”

“You don’t know that this is a permanent thing,” Mac risked breaking further through the personal-space boundary he had been adhering to and placed a hand on Jack’s knee. “Don’t get yourself stuck in your head or go back to a dark place over what may just be a few awful weeks.”

“What if it isn’t? What if this is all I am now?” His fist punched the tile floor, lightly this time, carefully, more out of sadness than anger. “A damn, no good, overwatch who can’t see?”

“Then we figure it out.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Jack tried to meet Mac’s eyes, to drive home his point, but he was a little left of center for it to have the desired effect. “You can’t spend the rest of your life takin’ care of me, Mac. I can’t ask that of you.”

“You never asked,” Mac teased. “I just volunteered. But in all seriousness, Jack, you’d do it for me. Hell, you kinda already have.”

“Sure, but, again, I knew what I was signing up for.”

“And you think I don’t?

“I’m supposed to be the one takin’ care of you,” Jack nudged Mac’s leg with his foot, slowly working his way back to his tactile self. “Not the other way around.”

“I think you need to recheck the definition of the word partner, buddy,” Mac nudged him back. “It’s a two-way street. That’s kinda the whole point.”

“What if this is the rest of my life, Mac? What if it can’t be fixed and I’m stuck like this?”

Mac hesitated, carefully weighing his options, before taking the plunge and moving to sit beside Jack instead of across from him. “Then, yeah it’s a pretty awful hand you’ve been dealt, but we’ll just have to roll with it. Retirement came early, maybe that’s the way to look at it.”

“Wasn’t supposed to come at all,” Jack’s voice was so soft that Mac barely heard the words, despite how close he was sitting.

“You wanna explain what the hell you mean by that?” The words were ominous enough, but the ease with which Jack spoke them sent a spike of fear through Mac’s heart. “And it better not be what it sounded like.”

“Calm down, I ain’t gonna do somethin’ stupid,” Jack assured, easily tracking that Mac’s thoughts had gone to the worst-case scenario. “If for no other reason than because I couldn’t stand the thought of leavin’ you to deal with the aftermath of that. Wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Not entirely comforting, but I’ll take it. Keep going.” Mac was afraid that if he let Jack stop now he wouldn’t be able to pick the conversation back up.

“Ain’t nothin’ to explain.” Jack shrugged. “You go kaboom, I go kaboom, you know that. If this gig ever takes you off this Earth I’m goin’ too, followin’ right behind. I’m supposed to go out savin’ the world, blaze of glory, but if I go out just savin’ you? Well, now, I’m havin’ a hard time seein’ the difference. I never planned on a retirement. We go out together or I go out makin’ sure you’re safe. And yeah, yeah, that was probably stupid, bad planning on my part, but I wasn’t prepared for this.”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there,” Mac shook his head, trying to erase the bleak pictures Jack’s words had started to create. “Cause this got real dark, real fast on us and I’m not sure how. Nobody’s dying, Jack. You’re not dying. This is a bad situation, sure, but it’s not the end of the world. And it might not even be permanent.”

“I can’t do my job, Mac,” Jack’s voice broke as he shook his head. “I can’t keep you safe if I can’t see. And no, that might not be the end of the world, but it sure feels like it right about now.”

Mac had nothing to say to that, nothing that would offer actual comfort instead of hollow platitudes, so he stayed silent. Sitting there beside his partner as the evening sun chased a path of shadows across the bathroom wall, a mesmerizing show only one of them could see. Mac didn’t move, not even when Jack’s head dropped to his shoulder as the last of his walls finally crumbled, at least for the moment, lying in wait to be rebuilt when dawn arrived. It didn’t matter. They could rise and fall as many times as Jack needed, Mac decided. He would be there, ready to hold his friend up whenever he wasn’t strong enough to do for himself.

**Mac’s Living Room**

At some point in the night, Mac risked breaking the spell of the quiet they had fallen into, suggesting they move from the bathroom floor to somewhere a little more comfortable, where they at least stood a chance at getting some rest before the next day began. Arms full of any pillows and blankets they passed along the way, they eventually settled in the living room, Jack on the couch and Mac in the recliner.

Neither of them knew they had fallen into a fitful sleep until a rattling from the garage woke them both. Jack was on his feet instantly, nearly toppling over into the coffee table as his legs got tangled in a blanket as he scrambled to get a grip on his surroundings, cursing a blue streak under his breath. One hand reaching instinctually for the weapon he knew he wouldn’t find at his side while the other was feeling for Mac, putting himself between his partner and the threat he couldn’t even see coming.

A threat that turned out to be nothing more than Bozer slowly making his way in through the side door, carrying a huge white metal cube, nearly tripping over the electrical cord trailing from it.

“Boze, what the hell?” Mac sighed in relief, dropping a reassuring hand to Jack’s shoulder when he was certain that they weren’t in any actual danger. “Just Bozer,” He assured quietly, so only Jack could hear. “Stand down, everything’s alright.”

“Sorry if I woke y’all,” Bozer called, trying to see over the top of the box in his arms. “Knocked over a box of old camping stuff. We really gotta clean out that garage one day, Mac. Took me forever to find this thing.”

“Again, Boze, what the hell?” Mac tried again.

“It’s your old mini-fridge!” Bozer exclaimed proudly, setting the box down with a thump in the empty space next to the couch. “From the dorm days back at MIT, remember?”

“I see that,” Mac frowned at the dinged white surface, some patches brighter than others where magnets had kept the paint from fading and the scuffed remnants of stickers were still visible in patches. “And why is it in our living room?”

“For Jack.” He answered easily, as if those two words explained everything.

Jack dropped back onto the couch with a huff, running a hand over his tired face. “Wanna tell me what I’m supposed to do with that thing?”

“Figured it might make things a little easier,” Bozer shrugged. “You said you were crashing on the couch, thought maybe if we had this in here it would save you needing help getting back and forth from the kitchen every time you wanted something to drink. Give you a little bit more independence. We can keep it stocked and you can just help yourself.”

“That’s…” Mac nodded. “That’s actually a really good idea, Bozer, thanks.”

“No problem.” He carefully snaked the cord of the fridge beneath the couch so it couldn’t be tripped over before plugging it in. “Look, I gotta get to work but I’m making breakfast before I head in. Jack? Your call, man, whatcha want?”

“Ain’t hungry, Boze.” It was clear that as the initial scare of being woken up wore off the stark realization of his condition was hitting Jack all over once again.

“You gotta eat something,” Mac reminded him gently. “So you can take your meds.”

“Ain’t hungry.”

Bozer and Mac shared a look. “Tell you what,” Bozer said finally, “I’ll go get it started, nothing too heavy, toast, bacon, some eggs, and maybe you’ll change your mind once you smell it, huh? Sound like a plan?”

Jack shrugged, which wasn’t a definitive no, and Mac chose to count it as a win.

He ended up forcing down half a piece of toast, just enough to be allowed to swallow the handful of pills Mac placed in his hand. Being able to put the half-empty bottle of Gatorade in the little refrigerator beside the couch though, without having to ask for help, and knowing it was there and he would be able to get it on his own the next time he wanted it, almost gave him a feeling of normalcy. Almost.

“If you’re done eating,” Mac was trying hard not to push, to not create his own version of the overbearing mother-henning he too often found himself on the receiving end of, “We can go ahead and get these eyedrops out of the way if you want to.”

“Not if they’re the same ones they gave me in the hospital I don’t,” Jack crossed his arms defiantly and inched further back into the couch. “Damn things burn like a mother.”

“Well, you gotta use ‘em twice a day,” If Jack wanted to take his medications on a mostly-empty stomach and face the repercussions of that, it was his decision, but Mac wasn’t going to let him talk his way out of drops that could very well play a crucial role in restoring his eyesight. “Eight hours apart. We can put it off for a little while if you really want to, but if it were me, I think I’d rather just do it now.”

“You ain’t gonna shut up about this ‘till I do it, are you?” Mac was the only person Jack had ever met who could out-stubborn himself, and Jack was smart enough to know when he’d been bested.

“Probably not, no,” Mac agreed with a grin. “Trust me, we do it now and you’ll be glad I made you go ahead and get it over with.”

“I doubt that. It’s not your eyes gettin’ acid poured in ‘em,” Jack mumbled as he repositioned himself to laying down on the couch. “Go on then, before I chicken out and change my mind.”

Mac quickly checked the time on his watch, making a mental note to write it down somewhere later and pushed aside the ideas that began to flood his brain of options for time charts and tracking tables, focusing on the tiny bottle in his hand and his partner’s eyes, usually so full of life, staring blankly up past him towards the rafters. “Alright,” he warned softly as he pried back Jack’s eyelid. “Here goes.”

The first drop seemed to take forever to fall, hovering at the tip of the dropper, clinging tight, but the pull of gravity finally won, as it always does, and Jack hissed sharply as the clear liquid melded into the warm brown of his eye. Fingers of one hand curled tightly into the worn leather sofa cushions as the other reached up, quick as lightning, and wrapped around Mac’s wrist, protesting. Mac bit his lip, hating that he was inflicting even more pain, but pushed through, telling himself that it’s what Jack would do for him. “Nope,” He carefully pried Jack’s hand loose and repeated the process on the other eye. “We’re getting it done, already made it this far, I’m sorry.”

Mac stepped back as soon as he was finished, giving Jack back his space, tightly securing the lid back on the bottle of eyedrops and fully prepared to pretend the liquid slipping past Jack’s tightly closed eyelids, catching on long lashes and rolling down his cheeks was excess medication, not tears until Jack huffed a laugh and cracked a smile that ended up being more of a grimace. “Least we know my tear ducts still work, right? Not every part of my eyes is busted all to hell.”

If Jack could force himself to laugh through the pain, Mac could too, he decided, so he forced a smile and carefully wiped the tears from his partner’s face with his thumb. “It’ll get easier,” He promised and hoped it wasn’t a lie. “Just gotta get used to it.”

The rest of the day passed quietly, Jack pretending to sleep on the couch, listening to Mac tinker with something in the corner.

Jack flinched as a knock on the front door broke the easy quiet they had fallen into and Mac pretended not to see the way Jack’s hand automatically reached for the empty spot where his thigh holster should be as he stood up to answer the door.

“Careful,” Jack warned.

“It’s probably just the mail delivery,” Mac smiled. “I think Bozer was expecting some packages. Some new latex brand he wanted to test out.”

“Why didn’t he just order it through work?” Jack frowned. “Instead of wasting his own money on it?”

“Personal project, not a good use of Phoenix funds,” Mac shrugged, quickly changing the subject. “But I’ll make sure whoever’s out there is in USPS blue before I open the door.”

“Told you, just the mail,” he assured when he came back into the room a few moments later, faking a cough to cover the sound of him opening the package he had been expecting, addressed to him, not Bozer.

The days began to blend together after that, as they fell into the makings of a routine. Bozer would make breakfast, which Jack wouldn’t eat, meds and eye drops and naps that clearly were not effective as the tired circles under Jack’s eyes continued to darken. Riley would come over for dinner, she could usually convince Jack to eat more than Mac could but it still wasn’t much. His appetite must have been connected to his eyes, he joked, trying to make them smile away their worry. They learned the hard way not to force it, that as long as he ate something it would have to be enough because the longer he went without his sight the shorter his temper got, even with his kids, who he usually had endless patience for.

Mac tried to break up the monotony of the days. There was a steady stream of doctor’s appointments, follow-ups with specialists and surgeries to schedule, which kept them busy enough. Those were hard days, pulling Jack away from the safe space they had turned Mac’s living room into, and throwing him back into the real world; only this time it was a world he couldn’t see, and he felt like everyone in each waiting room and every passing car was staring directly at him. He hated every second of it.

Some days the biggest adventure they managed to tackle was a shower, Jack fumbling but determined, Mac standing anxiously, barely even outside the door he made sure stayed open, just in case.

Mac woke up, moonlight filtering through the living room curtains, with the immediate feeling that something was wrong. A quick glance at the empty couch sent him worrying. He found Jack outside, leaning against the deck railing.

“Hey,” Mac called, trying his best not to sneak up behind him but causing his partner to jump anyway. “You alright?”

“Not really,” Jack shrugged. “But no new problems since the last time you checked.”

“Anything I can do?”

“I think you’re doin’ enough, hoss.” Jack sighed and turned away from the skyline he couldn’t see and began slowly, hesitantly, making his way to one of the deck chairs.

“Funny,” Mac followed him, settling down in a chair of his own. “Cause I feel like I’m not doing enough.”

“Short of you fixin’ my eyes with one of those little paperclip creations of yours, I can’t think of a single thing more you can do for me, Mac. None of this is on you, you know that, right?”

Mac didn’t answer so Jack continued, huffing out a humorless laugh. “You know what’s weird? The one thing I can think of that might actually help right about now?” He didn’t know what it was about the night, it wasn’t any darker than the day was to him now, but Jack was finding that something about knowing that the rest of the world had gone as dark as his own had made it easier to talk through his problems. “A damn smoke.”

“Seriously?” Mac frowned. “Thought you kicked that habit long before you even met me?”

“I did,” Jack leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Quit ’em when I met Diane, actually. Wouldn’t go out with me, not on one date ‘till I quit, believe it or not. Said she wasn’t goin’ home to her daughter smellin’ like an ashtray.”

Mac smiled. “Yeah, I can see it. It’s never been a question of where Riley got her stubborn streak from, that’s for sure.”

“Threw out the pack I had just bought right in front of her that day,” Jack continued, lost in the memory. “Haven’t picked one up since.”

“Well don’t start back now. I’m certainly not driving you to go get a pack of cigarettes at one in the morning. Or any time, for that matter.”

“Nah, don’t even think I actually want one, not really,” Jack scratched a hand through the stubble on his jawline. “I don’t know, kid, I just want to be able to do something, you know?”

“Yeah,” Mac agreed. There was nothing more to say.

“The Astros play today,” Mac said conversationally the next afternoon, unable to completely erase the excitedly hopeful grin from his face.

“Already told you,” Jack rolled over, turning his face into the couch cushions. “Just listening to the game when you can’t see it is just depressing, man.”

“You did say that,” Mac agreed easily, clearing off a spot on the coffee table and setting something down with a soft thump. “But I figured you might not feel that way if it wasn’t a game meant to be seen in the first place.”

“What’dya mean by that?” Jack turned back over, intrigued.

“Remember when Bozer knocked that box of old camping stuff over in the garage bringing your fridge in?”

Jack nodded.

“I found my Gramps’ old radio when I was cleaning the mess up.” He smiled proudly. “Got it working.”

“That’s what you’ve been fiddiln’ around with over there,” Jack put the pieces together. “I just figured you were takin’ advantage of all your new free time and workin’ on the bike.”

“Nah, the bike can wait. So, let me try saying this again.” He paused for dramatic effect, a cheesy move he hoped Jack would appreciate. “The Astros play today.”

“Hell yeah, they do,” Jack sat up. “Can that old thing pick up the Houston station out here?”

“It can now that I’m done with it,” Mac dropped down onto the couch, perfectly feigned nonchalance. “You want it on? Or is it still too depressing? Listening to a game you can’t watch?”

“Naw, turn it on,” Jack leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees excitedly. “We don’t wanna miss the first pitch.”

It didn’t last very long, the little glimmer of Jack being back to his old self, the radio lost its appeal not long after the game ended, but it was enough to rekindle Mac’s determination. To push past the exhaustion and turn an empathetic ear towards his partner’s anger when he couldn’t just ignore it. It was enough to remind him of just what he was staying strong for.

The closer they got to the surgery day, the grouchier Jack became. It was just nerves, Mac knew, he should have expected it, really, they were all too aware of how much Jack hated medical procedures of any kind, but none of them had been prepared for just how rattled he was leading up to this one. Riley hadn’t been able to stay through all of dinner the night before and Bozer hadn’t even attempted to make breakfast. Mac woke up, neck stiff from another night in the armchair listening to Jack toss and turn a few feet away, to a row of cereal boxes and two bowls placed on the counter with a note that he quickly threw away after reading.

_**Sorry, man.** _   
_**I just couldn’t take it this morning.** _   
_**Call me if you need something.** _   
_**Good luck.** _   
_**-B** _

After Jack grumping through their morning, the final straw fell around lunchtime when Jack began complaining that Mac was reading too loud. That the turning of each page was grating on his nerves and he was sick of listening to it.

“Alright,” Mac closed the book he had been reading, apparently loudly, with enough force that Jack didn’t have any trouble hearing the pages slam together. “C’mon. Your shoes are at the end of the couch, put ‘em on.”

“Unless you plan on takin’ me to my place and leavin’ me there,” Jack sent his best glare in Mac’s general direction. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Think of it as a field trip,” Mac left no room for arguing. “You’re going crazy, stuck here, on edge, mad at the world and taking it out on me so we’re going to do something about it.”

“I don’t…” Jack began even as he started tying up the laces on his shoes.

“Don’t care,” Mac cut him off. “You need a hand getting to the door?”

“Naw, I can make it,” He was pulling at a string on the hem of his jeans, anger quickly having faded to nervousness. “But I’m really not up for dealin’ with people right now, Mac.”

“No people,” Mac assured, sympathetic, despite his stress. “Just goin’ for a drive.”

His plan seemed to be doing the exact opposite of what he had intended, the tension that had become such a familiar fixture radiating out of his partner in waves had only intensified at the prospect of leaving what had become his relatively safe, though still miserable, little corner of Mac’s living room, but Mac was running out of ideas so he persisted. “Trust me?”

And because Jack did, he stood up and slowly made his way towards the front door.

A little over a half-hour later, Mac pulled into a parking spot.

“What’re we doin’ here?” Jack asked warily, carefully pushing his sunglasses further up to hide his eyes.

“You don’t even know where here is.”

“Phoenix,” Jack’s answer was automatic. “Back lot, close to the side exit on the first floor.”

“How did you…?” Mac’s question trailed off in awe.

“Can’t do nothin’ else,” Jack shrugged. “Kept track. Not like it’s that hard anyway, as often as we make that drive. Count the stoplights, left and right turns, time the straight stretches.”

“You’re treating this drive as if it’s a hostage situation?” Mac asked as he stared through the windshield at the familiar building. Sure enough, he had parked exactly where Jack said.

“Might as well be,” Jack folded his arms in a defensive, protective move. “Ain’t like I’m here of my own free will.”

“No,” Mac agreed, opening his door. “You’re here because you said you trusted me, remember?”

“Trusted you not to bring me to the damn place we work when you know good and well I don’t want people seein’ me like this.”

“No people,” Mac assured as he opened Jack’s door, knowing the older man wouldn’t do it himself. “I promised. Just, come on?”

Jack begrudgingly climbed out of the Jeep, standing unsure in the parking lot until Mac grabbed his hand, placed it on his shoulder, and began leading the way into the building and down the, as promised, empty hallway.

**Phoenix Gym**

"The hell are we doin' here?" Jack asked as Mac closed the door behind them, stopping to take in the familiar metallic rubber and sweat smell that no amount of cleaning supplies could completely mask, shivering slightly at the blast of cold air pouring out from the vents on the ceiling.

“Nobody else is around,” Mac took another slow step further into the spacious room. “I made sure on the way here. You got the whole place to yourself.” A few more feet and the floor beneath his shoes changed from the sturdy non-slip tiles to the soft cushion of safety mats. Jack’s steps were a little more confident, being in the familiar area and away from curious, sympathetic onlookers, as they walked past the sparring ring and stopped at one of the bags secured from the support beams.

“You’re just expectin’ me to punch my troubles away?” Jack asked as he dropped his hand from Mac’s shoulder and reached out to hesitantly trace the worn tape on his favorite heavy bag.

“What’s it gonna hurt?” Mac shrugged. “You’re throwing out emotional digs left and right, you gotta find a better way to deal. And this was the safest thing I could think of. You don’t even have to see it. You know your way around this thing. Have at it.”

Jack tapped a lightly curled fist against the familiar canvas, sending the bag swaying, just barely. “Not a bad idea.”

He hadn’t seen anything in days, but Mac’s relieved grin was nearly bright enough to break through the darkness. “Yeah? I thought of it a while back, just waiting for the right time to bust it out. I thought today might be it.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “Not the best morning.”

“Alright,” Mac clapped a hand against Jack’s shoulder and for the first time since their current nightmare began, his partner didn’t flinch at the sudden contact. “There’s nobody else here, you can tell exactly where you’re at, cause of the floors, so long as you don’t wander off. The row of speed bags is about three paces towards your ten o’clock but I wouldn’t suggest messin’ around on them unless you want to add a busted nose to your list of current health problems.”

Jack’s head whipped around, empty eyes scanning. Tracing Mac’s voice was harder in the gym than it was at home. The high ceilings and expansive empty spaces were broken up by echo-throwing workout equipment that resulted in Jack speaking to the blank pocket of air above Mac’s shoulder. “You leavin’?”

“Just for a minute,” Mac assured. “Gonna go grab a pair of gloves out of your locker.”

Jack nodded, turning back and throwing another punch, putting some actual effort behind the hit. “Go on. I’ll be alright here.”

Another solid hit connected as Mac rounded the corner to the locker rooms, taking some of his own anxiety along with it.

He wasn't prepared for the repetitive sound of flesh hitting canvas when he returned only a few moments later. "Hey," He called out as he jogged across the space separating them. “You were supposed to wait for the gloves.”

“Don’t need gloves,” Jack huffed out between punches.

Mac hesitated, twisting the sturdy material of Jack’s gloves between his unsure hands, before finally taking a step back. “Alright,” He agreed, still not convinced it was a good idea but willing to push his own opinions aside to give Jack the tiniest ounce of control back into his life. “But if you end up with a sprained wrist it’s not on me.”

Jack nodded, concentrating on not breaking his repetition pattern, looking more comfortable and in his element than Mac had seen him in days. Mac wandered off, moving leisurely around the gym. It was far from his preferred workout-space, he was much more comfortable outdoors, roaming the hills on his own than staring at the blank grey wall in front of the row of treadmills. The only part of the room that he was really familiar with was the sparring ring, and that he was due to his partner’s insistence that he stay combat-ready, so he was content to explore while Jack continued to pummel the heavy bag.

Mac gave him as much privacy as he could, focusing his attention on repairing a loose pedal he discovered on one of the stationary bikes and dutifully ignoring the labored breaths filling the room as Jack worked through his anger and frustrations one punch at a time. He briefly looked over his shoulder, a cursory glance out of newly-formed habit more than anything, and jolted to his feet, unrepaired bike pedal, pocket knife and Jack's hand wraps forgotten on the floor as he saw the smear of blood across the canvas punching bag.

"Hey, hey, stop," He called out, shoes thwacking over the floor as he ran across the room. "Jack, stop."

"I'm… fine," Jack accented each word with a punch, sending more blood from his busted knuckles splattering.

"You're hurting yourself," Mac finally got close enough to drop a resisting hand on Jack's shoulder, though it did nothing to stop his hands, rhythmically slamming into the now bloodstained tape.

"Jack, stop!" Mac's raised voice, a rarity in itself, combined with him shifting to move behind the swaying bag, blocking it with his body weight and breaking its pattern of motion, was enough to pull Jack out of his haze. He leaned forward, dropping his forehead against the canvas with a thump, as the sweat dripping from his face hit the mat beneath him, mingling with the drops of blood coming from his hands, hanging spent at his sides.

Shoulders heaving as he caught his breath, Jack stood there panting for a few moments. When he finally stood up enough to unseeingly face Mac, though, he was smiling. "Thanks, man. For draggin' me over here. One hell of a good idea."

"I'm not too sure about that," Mac reached out to pick up one of Jack's hands, pulling it close to examine the quickly-darkening bruises and abrasions spanning his knuckles. "You weren't supposed to end up with your hands all busted up like this."

"Don't even feel it," Jack was still smiling as he used the hand not in Mac's grip to pull the hem of his T-shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face. "Honestly? Feel better than I have since all this started."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'd offer you a fist bump but…" Jack trailed off, still grinning.

"Probably wouldn't be the best idea." Mac agreed. “You ready to head home, then? Get those hands cleaned up?”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “Yeah, let’s go.” He followed Mac through the maze of workout equipment easily, relaxed, and all the way back down the hallway, only reaching for Mac’s arm, uncertain, when they reached the door leading outside. “Hey, you think Bozer would be mad if we picked up pizza on the way home? I know he’s been goin’ out of his way to cook and everything and I haven’t exactly been appreciative, but man, I could kill for a good pie about now.”

“He won’t get upset,” Mac assured, “Whatever sounds good to you.”

“Pizza it is,” Jack decided, reaching out, carefully feeling along the dash until he found the radio dials and adjusted the volume before sitting back, bloody fingers drumming along to the beat with a smile.

Later that evening, after they had all filled up on pizza and Jack’s hands had been rebandaged, Jack was laying on the couch listening, once again, to the sound of Mac turning the pages of the book that he never seemed to go anywhere without anymore, wondering just what he had found so unbearable about the quiet sound that morning. “Whacha readin’ over there anyway? Read me a page of it.”

He felt the hesitation but chalked it up to him being such an ass about the very book only a few hours before. “Trust me, big guy,” Mac said after a moment. “It’s nothing you’d be interested in.”

“Too much sciency mumbo jumbo for me to understand?”

Mac laughed, it sounded forced, even to his own ears, but he held his ground. “Yeah, yeah, something like that.”

Riley insisted on going with them the morning of his operation, despite Jack trying his best to convince her to stay home.

“I want to be there.” She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, blocking the way out to Mac’s Jeep. “I’m going.”

“They won’t even know if it worked,” Jack argued. “Not for two weeks. No point in you goin’. I wouldn’t even let Mac go if he didn’t have to drive me there and back.” They all saw right through the lie but nobody called him on it.

“Exactly,” Riley said instead, using his own argument and turning it against him. “But Mac does have to go. Which means he’s going to be sitting there, all alone in that waiting room, going crazy worrying about you. Or I could come too. And keep him company.” She sent a warning glare past Jack’s shoulder towards Mac who was trying to hold back a laugh from the kitchen where he was filling a travel mug with coffee.

The three of them pulled into the parking lot of the out-patient surgical office an hour later.

**Home Sweet Home**

“I can’t decide if this is an improvement or not,” Bozer announced, voice quiet, as he stared down at a sleeping Jack, now with stark white bandages covering his eyes.

“Yeah,” Riley agreed. “I thought it would be better, you know? That nothing could be worse than those eyes of his staring right through you but… I don’t know. This is bad too.”

“Two weeks,” Mac said softly, still clutching the paperwork sent home from the surgeon’s office like a lifeline even though he had read through it all at least three times in the waiting room. “Two weeks till we know.”

Mac had prepared for it to be the worst two weeks yet, full of the anger-fueled nervousness that had plagued the days leading up to the operation, but Jack seemed to have made peace with it. Maybe it was the fact that it was done now, whatever was going to happen, there was nothing more they could do to prepare either way. Maybe he had already accepted permanent darkness as his fate and was coming to terms with it. Maybe it was simply an effect of the pain medication he had been prescribed, but after the surgery, he was surprisingly docile.

They were on the couch early one morning, long before daylight, but they were both awake. Jack had gone so long without sight that his circadian rhythm was out of whack, his days and nights blending into one another and messing with his sleep cycles. Mac, falling on a last resort hail mary, had moved from his chair onto the couch, putting Jack’s head in his lap and combing his fingers through Jack’s hair. It was a move that always seemed to put him straight to sleep when Jack used it on him but all it seemed to be doing for Jack was drawing attention to the fact that he needed a haircut.

“‘S too long,” He mumbled into the fabric of Mac’s pajama pants. “Shouldn’t be able to do that.”

“It is definitely past regulation length,” Mac agreed.

“Meant to go get it cut, before all this,” He waved sleepy, uncoordinated fingers over his bandaged eyes. “But we got too busy, one mission right after ‘nother. Never got ‘round to it. Can’t go now. People starin’ at me. Clippers and scissors that close to my face. To my eyes” He shuddered at the thought. “Not like they could do any more damage to my eyes.” He huffed out a dry laugh.

“Don’t talk like that,” Mac scolded gently. “You’re healing. Besides, instead of worrying about your hair I’d be more concerned about the beard you’ve got going on. It’s seriously verging on mountain-man territory.”

Jack smiled but didn’t say anything more, so Mac continued. “I could, I could help you, if you wanted. Shave, I mean?”

“Nah,” Jack declined his offer easily. “Not worryin’ ‘bout it.”

“Oh, okay, sure,” Mac nodded. “No big deal, just thought I’d offer.”

“It ain’t that I don’t trust you,” Jack’s senses, even though there was one less of them working at the moment, were fine-tuned to notice any uncertainty in his partner, and he couldn’t stand being the cause of it. “It’s just that’s the least of my worries right now, hoss. There ain’t nobody I trust more, you know that. I just don’t…” He sighed. “To be honest with you, kid, I just don’t have it in me right now to worry about it. And that’s where we’re at with this whole mess. We gotta pick which battles are worth fightin’. And that ain’t one of ‘em.”

“Just thought I’d offer,” Mac smiled. “Cause you are. Worth fighting for, I mean. Whatever you need, whatever happens, that doesn’t change.”

Jack wasn’t quite sure he believed it, that he was worth all the trouble his kids, especially Mac, had gone through over the past few weeks, but he was finally able to fall asleep feeling safer than he had in a long time.

Riley was waiting for them, pacing nervously around the fire pit, when they made it back to Mac’s house.

"You know," Jack warned as he stepped out onto the deck. "Mac's not gonna be very happy if you wear a hole in the floor out here. It’ll be a hell of a job to fix it."

Her head whipped around at the sound of his voice and she sprinted around the fire pit and into his open arms with a relieved smile.

"Damn, darlin'," Jack wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in tight, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "You sure are a sight for sore eyes. Get it?" He asked, laughing at his own joke. "Sore eyes? Sight?"

"Yeah, I get it," She stood up on her tiptoes to smile at Mac over Jack's shoulder. "How long has he been planning that one?"

"Most of the car ride back home" Mac shook his head fondly.

"I bet It was almost funny the first time around," Riley teased, pulling away from Jack's hug just enough to look up at his eyes that were finally smiling warmly back at her. "Nice glasses."

"No," Jack frowned, reaching up self consciously to adjust them. "They really aren't."

"Would you please tell him they look fine?" Mac asked Riley. "He doesn't believe me."

"Cause you have the fashion sense of someone in his eighties," Jack argued. "Which is how old I look in these things."

"Well…" Riley began, teasing.

"Hush." Jack sent her a playful glare. "I ain't there yet."

"They look fine," she assured.

"Yeah, well I'm still hopin' it's temporary."

"There's a chance of that?" She turned back to Mac.

"There is," He admitted. "But he was told not to get his hopes up. Most likely, he’s stuck with them. Which is fine. At this point, we're just gonna take the fact that he can see at all and be grateful."

"I hate 'em, but it’s better than nothin'," Jack admitted with a sigh. "I'm holdin' out hope though.”

“They really don’t look bad,” Riley tried again. “Make you look smarter too.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t the smart one in our little rag-tag group, I’m the dashingly handsome one.”

“You can still be the dashingly handsome one with glasses,” Mac rolled his eyes. “You wanna go grab us some celebratory beers while I get a fire going?”

"Beers," Jack nodded. "I think I can manage that. I'll just see myself into the kitchen."

"How many of these does he have planned? Riley asked once the door closed behind Jack.

"Too many," Mac assured, but he couldn't hide his smile. "You know how he is with his puns. They'll get real annoying real fast but right now I'm too relieved to care."

"He's really gonna be okay," Riley nodded, finally allowing herself to believe the words after all the stress and uncertainty of the past few weeks.

"Yeah," Mac agreed. "We all are."

Jack had every intention of grabbing a handful of beers from the fridge, as Mac had suggested and enjoying a quiet evening on the deck with his kids. He was only a few steps into the house when the living room caught his attention. He turned on his heel and doubled back, standing in the place that had become a central hub of the past two weeks, not just for him, but for all of them.

It was strange, the way his mind automatically separated the memories of the room into before and after categories. Pre and post-accident. He wondered, idly, if there was a label for the newfound combined state he found himself in now, blending them all together in a hesitantly hopeful state of after.

It was strange, finally seeing the room he had lived in for the past few weeks. It wasn't an unfamiliar room, not by a long shot, most days he would have sworn it felt more like home than his actual home did, but seeing the evidence of his recovery was still startling. There was the mini-fridge Bozer had dragged out of the garage to keep him from having to make the trip all the way to the kitchen when he was feeling too stubborn to ask somebody to bring him a drink. A pile of blankets and pillows piled up next to the fireplace, easily accessible to him or anyone, mainly Mac, crashing in the armchair for the night. He had known they were there, but he smiled now, seeing how they were placed, lined up against the rock hearth, obviously serving a double purpose to keep him from stubbing a toe. The coffee table was, as usual, a mess. Piled high with orange bottles, half-full Gatorade and rows of prescriptions. He picked up the radio, carefully, and moved it to a safer spot on the mantle, hoping Mac might leave it there. It's then, when he turned back around, half-hidden beneath a notebook he hadn’t even known Mac had been using to keep track of his med times, that he found the book.

"Hey, you alright?" Mac called, still not out of the habit of making his footsteps intentionally louder as he came in from outside.

"What's this?" Jack held the book up so Mac could see the spine. Braille for Beginners.

There had been no need for Mac to keep his guard up, to try and hide it before, so he had completely forgotten and left it out. "That's, um, well,"

"Thought you said you had faith all along that everything would work out in the end?" Jack was teasing. Mostly. "Besides, I'm not sure exactly how these things work, but I don't think the blind guy's gonna be learnin' Braille from a book, hoss."

"You're right," Mac ducked his head to hide red cheeks. "It was a stupid idea,"

"Now we both know you don't have those," Jack sat down on the couch, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose as he began thumbing through the pages. It wasn't new, far from it, with yellow highlighter accenting passages. Arrows, scrawled in whatever color pen had been on hand at the time, filled the margins, pointing to important lines. Some pages were dog-eared, marked for an easy return. The notes stopped a little over three-quarters of the way through the book, the exact spot marked with a paperclip and Jack finally understood. "Were you learnin' this? For me?"

"I mean, I hoped I wouldn't need to, but, if..." Mac shrugged. "All the things you would have had to relearn to do if things hadn't worked out the way we wanted them to? I don't know, man. This just seemed like something I could help with. Figured I'd get a head start. Just in case."

Jack closed the book carefully, reverently. He had every intention of keeping it. "You were gonna go learn an entirely new language just cause I might've had to?"

"It's not a language," Mac quickly deflected. "Says so on page one, actually. It's a reading and writing system. More of a code, really."

"Mac."

"Okay," Mac sighed and dropped down onto the couch beside Jack. "Okay, yeah. I was learning it. I thought that... if... I just kept thinking how hard it was going to be on you. All of it. Adjusting. And I was going to do anything I could to help."

"You weren't kiddin' were you?" Jack asked softly, staring down at the book in his hands, tracing the letters on the cover, hoping that the way his hands were trembling, just slightly, was a trick of the light or his newly recovering eyesight adjusting to his glasses. “When you promised you were in it for the long haul. No matter what happened. You were really gonna stick around, huh? Even if?”

“Course I meant it,” Mac ran a frustrated hand through his hair and turned towards Jack, letting his knee bump against Jack’s. “Jack, the thought of walking away? That never one time crossed my mind. The only thing I worried about was how to make it easier for you. Sure, it wouldn’t have been an ideal situation, but I would have been there. For all of it, man.”

“Apparently so. You went off and were tryin’ to learn Braille for me.” Jack teased. He reached up and pulled his glasses off his face to wipe at the shining eyes behind them. “Damn glasses,” He muttered. “Makin’ my eyes water.”

“You’ll get used to them,” Mac assured with a smile. “Just like you would have gotten used to a new way of life if things had gone another way.”

“You weren’t gonna give me another option, were you?” Jack finally looked up and met his eyes, and while Mac had truly meant it when he said he would have stuck by Jack’s side through it all, it was still a relief to see those familiar warm brown eyes looking at him and, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, actually seeing.

“Not a chance. Because whatever you were going to have to go through, I was going to be right there with you the whole way.”

“You take this whole partner thing pretty seriously, you know that?” Jack leaned back against the couch cushions and slung an arm across Mac’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“Yeah,” Mac agreed. “I learned from the best.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for joining me on this journey. And a very special thank you to some friends who, without, this fic never would have happened. I still have no clue how I got roped into writing this, but I’m so glad I did. Thank y’all so much.


End file.
